Treat the symptoms

I manage a depression and anxiety. I have managed it, at times successfully and at other times not quite so successfully. There are times when it impacts my day to day. and there are times when my day to day is the only thing that keeps me from shooting air bubbles into my veins.

When I am in the Pit, I know that if I can just hold on, sometimes second to second, that it will get better. Sometimes it’s not even holding on that does it, it’s scrambling to slow the slide into the abyss.

I had the thought the other day that it’s a good thing that I was born in the 20th century when they have drugs that have been improving every year. Otherwise, I’d have a hole drilled in my head and have to walk around with leeches.

Pills are better.

EOW

Sometimes I wonder about myself. I was just looking online at information about going to film school. Specifically, taking a course in screenwriting. I want to tell stories. Anyway, I was thinking about how long it would take and whether or not it would be worth it to rack up the debt and spend the time if the world is going to end in 2012 anyway.

I mean if the world ends, then screw the debt. But then who is really going to be interested in my screenwriting? From what I can tell, zombies don’t watch TV.

Thanksgiving

The holiday season is upon us. Not even a day after Halloween, the Xmas commercials started.

The nerd in me had the opportunity to talk with an epidemiologist over breakfast. Very cool to be acquainted with a scientist.

when i grow up

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do next. I’ve got about 40 good years left if I’m lucky. If I am really lucky all of them will be good, mobile, thinking years.

I want to be an automechanic and a lawyer; a web designer and a photographer. Only the first two do I want to do because of money. the other two because i just want to be good at them; sort of like I want to be good at piano. Except with the piano I feel like I already know that my fingers just will not do what I want them to do. They don’t stretch to hit the right keys. I can only play the music if it’s already written and even then my ability to read what is written is questionable. If I just practiced more I would be better but at what point do you say to yourself, I really am no good at this and practice won’t make me any better it will just help me maintain my current level of mediocrity. I live in the mediocre. I want to be fantastically good at something but I don’t want to have to work at it anymore.

I’m so sick of working hard. I dream of getting rid of my possessions and living in an rv with my dogs. and doing whatever I want to do. The only problem with that is I know that it wouldn’t take long for me to get really really sick of working even harder to figure out my day to day existence. I imagine that what I would really do is lay around for a couple of weeks doing absolutely as little as possible. I’d probably waste away from not eating or drinking because that is entirely too much work. Even having the dogs would be too much responsibility for how I feel. But having the dogs would be the only reason to keep getting up in the morning. They depend on me. I invited them in and I could not abandon them because I got tired of taking care.

I wonder if those thoughts are a prelude to a depression or if it’s just clear indication that there is a void in my life that I don’t have any clue how to fill.

Do not feel good

I am at the doctor’s office. I dont like going to the doctor although I like my doctor very much. She’s very compassionate, empathetic, takes time to talk to me. More important, she listens to me.

But still the idea that she will find something wrong (more than the minor complaint that brings me to the office) always gives me significant pause.

Then there is the idea that she might tell me that my health might require me to do something that i don’t want or am not ready to do.

I guess i better just get over it. I hate not feeling well.

Friend

There is an artistry in friendship. Friendship as a means to an end is not an art. To want someone’s friendship only as a stepping stone to what you really want but will not say is not an art. To claim friendship and abandon it at the first or second sign of something shinier, is that art?

Friendship as a fall back postion, is that art?
Art is the physical, visual, or aural manifestation of a single thought in time.
I ramble, I am uneasy in life today.

codeword: hostile

Today, I am tired of it. Ususally I brush it off as the non-sense that it is: the automatic fall back position of those who resent the fact that I will not dissappear into the floor because they have an opinion that differs from mine and I do not hesitate to actually believe that I might be right.

so it’s that I’m hostile. It gives them an excuse to behave the way they behave. I don’t deserve it so it’s bothering me right now. She was almost nice to me.  Then she remembered she’s not suppose to like me. That makes me sad. That’s why it bothers me.

hos·tile
[hos-tl or, especially Brit.-tahyl]

  1.  of, pertaining to, or characteristic of an enemy:a hostile nation.
  2. opposed in feeling, action, or character; antagonistic: hostile criticism.
  3. characterized by antagonism.
  4. not friendly, warm, or generous; not hospitable.

Doesn’t even sound like me.

Stuff and things…

I drove 14 hours this summer on my way to a week’s vacation. The beginning– let’s say first four hours–were easy. My mind was awash with how far I’d gone, what I’d do when I’d get there, am I hungry, am I thirsty, am I good on gas, look at that car, this road is cool.  The end –let’s say the last 2 hours –were about being close to the goal, only 2 more hours, do I have to use the bathroom, should I fill up before I get there so I don’t have to stop too soon on the way out, I hope I brought everything.

The middle part is a blur and it’s in that middle part where I imagine my mind was as close to quiet as it was going to get. By that middle part, not much about the journey was going to change, I just had to keep driving; keep my mileage steady, I wasn’t hungry, thirsty, or needing a break.

I feel that way right now. Like the brain is chugging away on its rails, doesn’t need a lot of watching, fiddling with, or tending. Yet, I get the sense that the light and sound that I sort of  hear off in the distance might be important but all I can do is keep chugging on my present course and adjust when I have more details.

That is all.

TV Show

I want to write a TV show. about a newspaper. old auburn ave feel. and i want it to be about stuff like urban sprawl. regentrification. innercity and outercity politics. mass transit. drug trade. death penalty. prison industrial complex. gay marriage/gay adoption/gay gayness. passing the torch. family dynamics. interracial marriage. suburbia. downtown. and more…

1st season- 7 characters introduced.

1 patriarch (owner of the newspaper)
2 his daughter (researcher, fact checker)
3 his son-in-law (new politician who wants to trade on newspaper contacts and history, idealist)

4 his wife (senior editor, has to be Alfre Woodard)

5 idealist beat reporter (just married, moving from downtown to suburbia)

6 new kid (writer who by mistake but with writing genius brought down a local political ‘gang’ with a series of articles on personal blog)

7 ?? (maybe six is enough)

I also want Tina Marjorino in it…